


Lucky Number 7

by hellbend



Category: A3! (Anime), A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Amnesia, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining, Violence, chikage drinks everyone's homosexual tears like it's wine, cottagecore Chikage, not really canon compliant in some places but mostly yes, potential cliches, vampire-typical behaviours
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28787457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbend/pseuds/hellbend
Summary: This is not a standalone once-in-a-lifetime tragedy. This is one that has been lived through 6 different times, 6 different ways and had 6 different bad endings. Love has left a bitter aftertaste in both their mouths, and the jaws of Fate have imprisoned them on two different sides of the same wall. This is about the 7th and last chance they have to find their eternity - where they have to accomplish the impossible. This is their 7th life, where the damned and the divine fall in love for the first and last time.
Relationships: Chigasaki Itaru/Tsukioka Tsumugi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> \- My first time writing a Vampire/Angel/Fantasy AU! also my first time centering the majority of the plot around tragedy so please be kind I'm new to this
> 
> \- Reader discretion is advised! Stories with settings like these naturally call for content such as murder, blood, mentions of death and the afterlife. But I will NOT be discussing religion! Subtle references will be made but I will not specify any religious context because it is irrelevant in the grand scheme of the story. 
> 
> \- CONTENT WARNINGS for this chapter: blood drinking, murder, violence, heartbreak
> 
> \- Not Beta Read! i'm sorry for typos.

The sky is clear but there seems to be a storm in the woods tonight. 

A resounding crash shakes the night air, not unlike the cymbalic cries of thunder. A pulse of light, violently bright as hot bolts of lightning, craters the dark, shadowed foliage. There’s a scream as metal bites against metal and sends up a shower of sparks that litter the ground and a guttural growl before a body thumps against the tree trunk. 

The two shadows, cut into the scene of the glade, converge in the centre and slam into each other with inhuman strength, sending a gust of wind ruffling through the treetops. Their swords pulse, throbbing rhythmically like a heartbeat, and their blades screech against each other in defiance. 

A third shadow is perched on the treetops, watching the two youngsters go at each other. Any minute now, he thinks, they’ll abandon the dignified sword fight and jump each other like animals, fangs bared to sink them into their opponent’s dead heart. This scuffle isn’t an uncommon occurrence. In fact, it’s the third time this week the same two younglings - Banri and Juza - have been causing a ruckus. 

Like any responsible adult, Itaru should step in and stop them before they cause more damage but if it’s anything the last twenty years in his immortal life have taught him, it’s that in the big scheme of things, this doesn’t matter. 

He jumps down from the tree, landing lightly on his feet and calmly makes his way to the body draped over the burnt tree stump. It’s skin is covered in sores and welts from the hot light pulse the battle released a few seconds ago. The woman still quivers, flinching weakly when he bends over her body to look her in the eye. 

“Hey!” 

Itaru ignores Banri’s yell, and presses two fingers to the lady’s neck. Her jugular throbs deliciously under his touch and he feels an insane hunger take root in his gut. A dull pain rises in his jaw as he feels the tips of his fangs tease his lower lip. 

He hears the blade sing through the air, right at the time he expected it, and pulls his own cutlass out in time to intercept Banri’s attack. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Itaru says, turning to his assailant. His voice sounds different when he’s hungry - hoarser, deeper and tight. Twenty years of not aging have worn down his humanity just fine but if it’s something that he feels in all its force it’s the desperate  _ hunger _ .

“That’s  _ my  _ kill!” Banri snarls. His eyes flash like blue fire.

Itaru reacts instinctively to Juza’s attack, swinging his arm out so that his metal band connects with the incoming blade and throws it out of the youngling’s hand. Relying on the established momentum, Itaru swings his hand back just in time to drive his fist into the side of Juza’s head and send his body flying to the opposite side of the glade. 

“Not anymore,” Itaru says, sidestepping and driving his knee right into Banri’s gut, forcing the youngster to his knees. “It’s not very gentlemanly to abandon a lady in the middle of your date and keep her waiting, you know?” 

He slides his cutlass smoothly through the air until it nicks Banri’s throat the slightest, pressing the blade harder as he moves closer, hand on his hip. “Besides, you’ve got some balls causing a commotion like this over one human.” 

Juza walks up to them calmly this time, nursing his neck. Itaru likes the kid. He knows exactly when to stop fighting, and picks his battles carefully. He’s cautious like that - he’ll survive in their world just fine. 

“You do this again and I’ll cut your head clean off,” Itaru says, gaze locked onto Banri’s. “There’s an entire town of humans just two minutes away. You can very well get another.” 

Banri doesn’t say anything, but Itaru can practically feel his temper simmering underneath that stubborn gaze. This kid Itaru doesn’t like. He’s still bound by his earthly desires, having been a vampire for only 5 years, and that’s what makes him such a pain. Humans have that quality - to latch onto something and pour their passion to it. Thing is, Itaru doesn’t remember Banri being this attached to anything as he is to Juza. 

Maybe this is just because Juza was the one who bit him, but Itaru still thinks there’s more to this. 

He couldn’t care less. He just wants the two of them to stop ruining the ambience with their childish fights. 

He sighs, sheathing his weapon and crouching over the woman’s body. Her eyes are closed but Itaru can hear the thud of blood against the walls of her capillaries. He can smell it too, from the stain that she’s coughed up around her chin. Rich, fluid and  _ sweet _ . 

“That’s not your - “ Banri starts up again, but Itaru whips his head around and glares at him. Maybe it’s the way his pink eyes darken into a darker shade of crimson or the long wicked fangs that slide over his delicate pale lips but Banri stops in the middle of his sentence, clenches his fists and looks away just as Itaru sinks his fangs into the human’s neck. 

He pierces through the flesh, the sensation familiar yet exciting all the same, and draws in one long sip after another. The blood is supple and melts on the tongue just right, which only prompts him to deepen his sips and he proceeds to gulp, until he’s taking down mouthfuls of it at a time. 

He feels it - warm and sticky - dribble down his chin but the bliss is strong and shoots up right into his head, dulling his senses and warming his otherwise cold body. He feels the human skin heat up under his touch as well and smiles against her neck when he hears her release a faint euphoric sigh before going still in his hands. 

“Man, I can’t believe this,” Banri grumbles. He swings his sword weakly in Juza’s direction. “This is all your fault!”

“You hijacked my hunt and tried to take my kill. This is on  _ you _ !” Juza growls. 

“Shut up,” Itaru says, his hunger finally satiated. He doesn’t have it in himself to be angry as he touches his tongue to the top of his mouth and swallows the remaining taste of his dinner. “It’s in your best interests to have let me have her,” He explains. “Or I would have killed you both for crossing over onto our turf.” He folds his arms and watches both their expressions freeze. 

“Do you know where your territory ends and where ours begins?” Itaru questions, frowning at them. “You’re lucky it’s me who found you. The others wouldn’t have let you off so easy.” 

“I ain’t scared of you lot,” Banri says finally, scoffing as he does so. “Sakuya couldn’t hurt a fly, Masumi’s a bigass crybaby, and Tsuzuru doesn’t even know how to hold a sword right. And you can’t hold off the rest of us all by yourself.” Itaru grits his teeth; he’s not surprised that, once again, the incompetencies of his coven are being taken advantage of.

“There’s not enough game in our territory,” Juza admits, as honest and earnest as ever. Itaru wonders whether he will ever shed his humanity. 

“That’s not my problem,” Itaru responds. “Stay out of our space. Go ask Tenma’s coven for help or something. Aren’t you all chummy?” 

“That’s not the case,” Banri says. 

“I don’t care.” Itaru takes one challenging step towards Banri, and suppresses a satisfied smile as Banri shrinks instinctively. “I’m not in charge of working things out. If you want to reach an agreement, you’ll have to bring it up with Sakuya.” 

He turns on his heels and calmly retreats into the woods, the noise of Banri and Juza’s pointless banter fading into the background and plunging him into silence.  _ I don’t care _ , he tells himself. He rolls that phrase around on his tongue a lot, finding it coming to good use in the new life he’s been living. He swallows it and spits it out as he desires and as the situation commands it and now, it’s become second nature. 

Nature. Whatever he is, can’t have been planned by nature. Not alive - but not quite dead either. Having moulted, shedding his humanity like a snake would its dead skin, into something that’s halfway between the living and the dead - the damned, is what the humans call them. Creatures that aren’t fit for heaven or hell. If there is such a thing, Itaru muses. 

He’s always been an atheist. Growing up as a child and saying God’s name in vain does that to you. Itaru learned the hard way to not have faith in things that can’t be proven. He manages just fine on his own - with faith in his cutlass and his hunger. 

The hunger is another thing - a stern reminder that he will remain alive enough to know he can’t die. 

There are fates worse than death and Itaru is living that truth. 

Not that he minds. Maybe 17 years ago, he would have but he’s grown out of his feelings and his humanity. 

He hears fast and heavy footsteps - too fast to be human, and sighs in resignation, gritting his teeth and pulling out his cutlass, this time with the intention of impaling Banri for good. He turns, swinging the arm carrying his weapon before Banri and Juza crash into him and send him stumbling. He feels his ribs crack, and clicks his tongue in annoyance at the mild discomfort. 

“What did I tell you?” Itaru growls, snapping the bones back in place, as he presses the tip of his blade into Banri’s neck. “You’re further in our territory than before. Do I have to personally kick your ass back to - “ He stops when he notices the evident panic on Banri’s face that’s mirrored on Juza’s. 

“Hunters,” Banri says, heaving out the word past the wall of fright that seems to have come over his expression and slammed the usual nonchalance out of his tone. “In the woods. Coming here.” 

Itaru pauses, and then surveys the blood splattered on both their torsos. He kneels down to where they’re sprawled and quivering on the ground, and lazily runs his finger over the stain on Banri’s shirt, bringing his finger to his mouth and licking it experimentally. Definitely human blood. 

“How many of them did you kill?” He asks. 

“Two,” Juza responds.

“Three,” Banri says, a hint of pride in his voice as he shoots Juza a look, which the other boy naturally ignores. 

Itaru sighs. “I take it there’s an entire hunting party headed this way, huh? Bloodhounds and everything. And you geniuses - “ He takes it upon himself to use both his hands and shove the two of them hard, “ - are going to lead them right to us. This is on  _ you  _ for putting on that flashy performance in the middle of the night.” 

He stands up and waits for them to do the same as he thinks. Humans aren’t really that strong, but they’re resourceful and scary in numbers. Especially these kinds - the ones hunting for glory. Itaru can practically smell their pheromones and like one reads a book, he can read the signals in that scent. He takes in a deep breath, drawing in the air into his lungs until he can smell the alcohol and sweat. 

Perfect. A bunch of young drunk men hunting for a vampire to bring back as a trophy. Nothing more motivating to a human than their own selfish greed, and the more desperate they are, the more capable of atrocities they become. 

“Take off your shirts,” Itaru commands the two of them, earning skeptical looks.

“That’s kind of creepy,” Juza comments. 

“Shut up and take them off,” Itaru snaps. “The blood on them will lead those bastards right to you. I’m going to create a new trail for them to follow. You two head off and alert your friends.” 

“What are you going to do?” Banri asks, already beginning to unbutton his uniform - its unique design specific to his coven. He slings his blood-stained shirt over Itaru’s outstretched arm. Juza does the same. 

Itaru contemplates explaining but feels the vibrations in the ground getting stronger as the human party approaches them. “No time to explain,” He says. “Get everyone ready for a fight. Use the trees. It’s a cloudy night so they won’t see your shadows.” 

His words take a while to sink in, but Banri and Juza exchange a look and then take their hasty leave. Before they’re completely out of earshot, Juza throws a glance at Itaru over his shoulder and mouths a very rushed ‘Thanks’, melting into the foliage as the barking and yelling get even closer. 

Itaru stands there for a while, processing the taste of gratitude that’s come to be a foreign sentiment to him. There are no “thank you”s and “please”s in his life - there are only favours to be repaid and begging for mercy. Juza and Banri are both too young to understand the implications of Itaru’s aid in the moment, but eventually, they’ll learn their lesson. It will take a while but not if he teaches them now - for once, he feels inclined to shoulder this responsibility. Not out of pity, but because it leans in his favour. 

They’re in debt now since he’s saving them - the entirety of Aki are. 

He slings the bloodstained rags over his shoulder and launches himself into the woods, feet slamming almost soundlessly except for the gentle rustle of dead leaves due to the wind he kicks up. 

The humans had been a real pain ever since they discovered the existence of vampires. They sent out hunting parties periodically, but the frequency waned when none of them came back to town alive. Itaru smiles to himself, pleased. Humans scare easily. The only positive to that was having an easy hunt for dinner. The resident covens had never eaten so well before in their lives as they did when the mortal hunting parties visited their woods.

Something in the shadow moves, prompting Itaru to skid to a halt just before a boy springs out of a bush, wielding a wooden spear. He looks well-built, confidence inflating his posture and anchoring his feet firmly as she stands in front of Itaru, who merely clicks his tongue again and charges. 

The spear grazes his shoulder but Itaru catches hold of it, pausing to watch in mild amusement as the hunter struggles to wrestle it out of his vice grip, squirming like a worm caught in the sunlight. With a single clench of his fist, the wooden shaft shatters in Itaru’s hand, sending up a sprinkle of splinters which steals out of the hunter’s reaction time. 

Itaru doesn’t even have to pull out his cutlass. In one clean swipe of his bare arm, he separates the hunter’s torso from the rest of his body and leaves him a bloody mess on the forest floor for nature to reclaim. 

Like an instant retribution, more of the hunting party emerges. Their little skirmish of a comrade seems to have bought them enough time to catch up with their game. They seem to have misconceived Itaru as an easy hunt, if they’re chasing a vampire of his caliber with bellies full of alcohol and poorly made stakes. 

Itaru knows he can jump out of their reach easily just with a slam of his foot, and then be on his way but there’s something quite amusing about these people’s naivety. Game foolishly attempting to play hunter, throwing curses at him and staring him down like his species isn’t on top of the food chain. 

He stands there and takes in the sight, with the nonchalance of an apex predator and the knowing that in his entire life, he’ll only come across such an entertaining scene once in a blue moon.

A faint whistling, that’s getting louder, steals a microscopic bite out of his attention. He recognises the roar of the wind tearing as something cuts through it viciously and the source of the sound slams into the ground right next to him. 

Sakuya craters the earth where he lands, a deafening crack shaking the air as the ground splits beneath his heels upon impact and sends up a shower of leaf and debris. A cloud of dust blooms, rising above the both of them and swamping the entire scene such that the humans are left crying out in surprise and calling out to each other. 

Itaru sighs, smiling ever so slightly. “Nice entrance, though I see no need to be so dramatic.” 

Sakuya blinks, not understanding. “Are you sure you didn’t need help?” 

“Not really necessary, but since you’re here, I’m assuming you’re going to help anyway.” 

Sakuya is older than Itaru by at least a century and yet where Itaru’s gestures are nothing short of perfunctory, Sakuya’s are genuine. If Itaru looks long enough, he can see the faint flashes of Sakuya’s humanity in his round, starry eyes - a compassion and tenderness unique to mortal children with their soft skin and brilliant smiles. 

“Of course,” Sakuya smiles. “Let’s do the Aki guys a favour.” In the shadows, Itaru notices a hint of cruelty and wild glee in his expression. He mirrors Sakuya’s with one of his own. 

  
  
  


Itaru is welcomed back into the cave by Masumi, who pummels into him with the force of a truck and nearly sends him sprawling. He catches the boy by the wrist and swings him straight into the stone wall. There’s a sickening crack and a yowl of pain, but Itaru feels irritation nibble at his resolve as he advances on Masumi. 

Tsuzuru steps in at the last minute between Masumi’s crumpled form and Itaru. “Come on, man, he’s just hungry. He didn’t mean it.” Behind him, Masumi snarls in protest as he pushes himself back to his feet. 

“He wouldn’t be, if he just had a drink,” Itaru points out calmly, sliding his cutlass out and driving its point right into Masumi’s shoulder to pin him against the wall. His childish stubbornness is gradually grating on Itaru’s nerves and wearing his patience thin even as he watches the little one squirm in pain as blood soaks his sleeve. There is rage in Itaru’s voice that he isn’t certain it quite belongs to him. 

Masumi’s anger is evident in his eyes, despite the pain taking over his face and the thin stream of blood rolling down his chin from his lips where his fangs have cut skin. “I’m not drinking human blood. I’d rather die.” 

A growl, rising straight from the pits of Itaru’s stomach breaks through his pursed lips. “Then,  _ die _ . You will, eventually. Give me the word and I’ll stake your heart out.” 

“I’d never give you the liberty to do so.” 

The two of them stare at each other, tempers simmering under their twisted expressions, until Sakuya walks in, hand gripping his knife. He surveys the scene and shakes his head, sharing a glance with Tsuzuru. 

“So, you two are arguing again?” He questions. “Is it about the same thing again?” The only response to that he gets is a scoff and a scowl directed in the opposite direction. There’s something juvenile about his defiance; his face is just as soft and expressive as a child’s. 

Fresh out of human skin, Masumi is the youngest vampire in their group, having been bitten only three years ago. He still clings desperately onto the notion of restoring his humanity which, by Chikage’s words, is close to impossible without any sort of divine intervention. And the divine? They don’t really think twice about the damned. In any case, Masumi is a lost cause. 

Itaru and Masumi have this back and forth more often than necessary, usually initiated by the youngling and his spite. In fact, that seems to be the only reason he ever does anything - out of spite. Itaru respects that, at least. It’s a fitting selfish motivation - one that he wishes he had himself. Everyday is a cycle of the same motions, without any reason to be so. 

He draws his cutlass out of Masumi’s shoulder finally. Despite not usually feeling compelled to commit any such act out of any genuine emotion, the sight of Masumi actively defying the pain with his spiteful scowl is a little more than Itaru can bear. He doesn’t like to acknowledge it, but buried somewhere underneath that tough emotional hide he cares. Just the slightest, though, and weirdly feels a sense of responsibility for the kid. 

Masumi wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for Itaru, and he feels the duty to look after him, even if it is a pain in the ass and the boy hates him.

“We’re going hunting,” Tsuzuru cuts in, gently. His voice is delicate and warm and cautious as he eyes the two of them, neither having spoken a word to each other. The tension is palpable and makes the air throb. 

Masumi flinches slightly at the word “hunting” and turns away, wrapping his arms around himself and trying to melt into the stone walls. Itaru watches, unperturbed, but places a hand on Tsuzuru’s shoulder in acknowledgement. “You both go on ahead,” He tells the boy. “I’ll stay behind with him.” 

Tsuzuru and Sakuya exchange another wary glance. Given the already existing friction between Itaru and Masumi, leaving the two of them alone doesn’t seem like a practical course of action. But Itaru is insistent, and takes no criticism, constructive or not. 

“Alright.” Sakuya shrugs. “If you say so.” 

Once they leave, Itaru pulls out his cutlass the slightest and incises the tip of his finger until blood oozes out of it in a steady stream. He can practically hear Masumi’s muscles coil tensely as the aroma stains the air. Itaru understands the temptation all too well - remembers it, in fact, from the first few years he spent in this new life. The hunger, if left unsatiated, rises to a crippling pain sooner or later and grates your sanity. 

Sanity. It seems to be the only thing any of them retain from their past lives, though just barely. A strange sensation comes over him, clenching his heart with a ferocity that can only belong to something akin to grief. Some days, in the confines of his own mind, Itaru grieves his lost humanity. It seems to be the only other thing that he can feel besides hunger. He clings onto it desperately, like a drowning man would a twig. 

As he takes in the sight of Masumi, trembling and shrinking by the second, something unfurls in his chest. It’s warm, and fills him to the brim and makes him curl his toes in shock.  _ Empathy _ . 

It’s gone as soon as it comes, leaving Itaru wondering if he’d imagined it after all.

“Come on,” Itaru prompts Masumi, holding out the bleeding finger in the boy’s direction. “I know you’re hungry.” When he gets no response, he forces his finger into Masumi’s mouth, gritting his teeth to stamp down on the irritation that would have made it into his voice otherwise. 

“I don’t care if you don’t want to drink,” He says. “If you get hungry enough, you’ll attack and kill us all and then feed anyway. You can’t fight instinct.” Masumi doesn’t reply, just clutches onto Itaru’s wrist as he drinks. His nose is red from crying and his fangs have left scab marks on his already cracked lips. He’s quite a pitiful sight; it makes Itaru look away involuntarily. 

“It’s not much of a life, is it?” 

A question by a voice so soft it’s almost lost to the sound of the rain outside. Masumi is still holding onto Itaru’s hand tightly, but not out of malicious intent. His hands tremble, his touch feverishly warm in contrast to Itaru’s glassy cold skin. They make eye contact and in his gaze, Itaru sees his grief mirrored right back at him. A chill sets over him, and he releases a sigh that seems to radiate from every muscle in his body.

“No,” Itaru admits. “It’s not.” 

His eyes sting the slightest, just as the rain begins to beat down outside in a raging downpour. It seems the skies are grieving on his behalf.

* * *

  
  


There is a storm in the High Heavens tonight. 

The clouds churn around Tasuku’s feet restlessly as he stands, facing his friend who seems to show no indication of having heard a single word he’s said. 

Tsumugi rests on the tree branch, lazily juggling an Eden fruit as he watches from the edge of the Heavens. There’s a blissful smile on his delicate face, and his expression is soft but determined. He hasn’t spoken a word throughout the one-sided argument, but it seems as though his resolve has made his stance clear. 

“You can’t do this,” Tasuku repeats, his voice shaking through his clenched teeth. “Not again. I’m not watching you do this to yourself, again.” 

His wings stretch out behind him as if to frame that declaration, stubbornly flapping and sending up an angry gust of wind. It wraps around Tsumugi, gently rustling his hair but otherwise, he seems as unruffled as ever on his branch. 

“Close your eyes, then,” Tsumugi responds, not once looking at his friend. “You can’t watch if your eyes are closed.” 

“Not funny.” Tasuku reaches up and catches Tsumugi by the drape gently. “Get down from there. I’m sick of watching you spend your time day in and day out watching over a - “ 

“ - bloodsucker?” Tsumugi finishes for him. Though his voice is soft, there’s a defiant rage that simmers underneath it that is anything but merciful. His otherwise tranquil and virtuous face loses its kindness and his expression hardens. Tsumugi doesn’t ever frown or scowl and hasn’t been known to, but it’s in moments like this he shows real evidence of wrath and cruelty. 

The winds seem to still and the Heavens seem to halt mid-breath as the two of them look at each other. Static seems to crackle as their gazes lock, their breaths leaving sparks from friction as the tense silence crushes their argument into dust. 

Tsumugi slides his hands into his long sleeves and jumps off the branch, his wings catching air to slow his descent until he can land safely on his feet. He doesn’t spare Tasuku a glance - simply walks past him like he isn’t even there. 

“Have you seen the stars tonight?” Tsumugi questions, turning his attention to the sky. The stars are closer here than they are for the mortals. They twinkle, winking on and off in their place like fireflies. The humans look to the heavens for guidance in more ways than one, including reading the stars for direction. Tsumugi looks to the stars for stories.

He’s learned, over the centuries, to read the stars well. Each pulse, each wink - he’s learned to decipher them all. On their own, they spin wonderful tales for him, speaking to him through their heat and light across the distance, filling his solitary nights with their company. As the winds move, so do the stars, like the pages of a book. 

It’s time for his favourite story. One about two boys that crossed heaven and hell for each other. This one repeats itself every century, lassoing him into the depths of that prophesied tragedy. 

He sees his name there now, as he did for the past 6 centuries. It burns brighter and hotter and the star speaking it seems to be singing, its soundless melody stirring him. 

“It’s that time again,” Tsumugi tells him. Around him the clouds part as he sighs. 

“You don’t have to answer,” Tasuku reminds him. “It’s  _ not  _ a prophecy.” His voice is weighed down with desperation. His fists are clenched under his flowing sleeves. He speaks through gritted teeth.

“Homare outdid himself with this story, didn’t he?” Tsumugi continues, ignoring Tasuku’s suggestion. “Who knew he could write so well?” His gown billows as he retreats back to the ripe garden, emerging from the dimness and into the lit pathway framed by well-trimmed hedges. 

Tasuku follows him, this time in silence. He seems to have deflated. They have had this argument a number of times now, but every time, Tasuku’s words have fallen upon deaf ears. 

Something is weighted about their silence and the air around them. The garden’s nightlife doesn’t seem as vivid as usual, as if sensing the solemn atmosphere. 

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into if you do this?” Tasuku questions. His tone has changed. The resignation has waned, and now he matches Tsumugi’s subtle but unyielding determination with his own. “Things are different now than they were before.” 

“Why?” Tsumugi turns to him, his skirts swirling. The pale silk catches the light of the moon. “Because he’s immortal? But so am I.” He’s set on this explanation. 

Fate, he tells himself. It’s fate that the stars would align so perfectly in the seventh and last life for the two of them. For the divine and the damned to fall in love as they should, with no time limit. No deadline. Maybe this will be their eternity. Maybe they’ll outrun their tragic ending together. Maybe their Forever is finally here.

His hands are clasped tightly behind his back, where Tasuku can’t see them clenching hard enough to draw the slightest bit of blood. Tsumugi keeps a smile on his face, averting his eyes to the heavens so that the tears have to retreat under the white light of the moon. Tsumugi doesn’t need Tasuku to tell him the stakes. He knows what they are. He’s known from the very beginning.

6 times. He’s descended into the mortal world 6 different times, in 6 different lives, fallen in love with Itaru 6 different times with the same intensity each time. In different names, in different vessels. They’ve died together 6 different times. Tsumugi has spent more of the past centuries in love than he has in heaven. 

Those two feel like opposites - Love and Heaven. There is something hellish about the former. Something that’s all-consuming, and that leaves him aching. No matter how badly things ended each time, Tsumugi has not regretted a single one of his descents. 

“I know, Taa-chan,” Tsumugi says, his voice quivering ever so slightly. “This is the last time I can descend. This is his seventh life and mine as well. If I die, I’ll never be able to enter heaven.” 

“And even then - “ Tasuku begins urgently. 

“Even then,” Tsumugi interrupts firmly. “Even then, I’d like to spend my last life with him.” 

Tasuku grabs him by the shoulder, his nose red. He’s holding back tears of his own. “No, you’re not understanding. He’s  _ past  _ that now! He’s not going to fall in love with you, because he can’t! Not now that he’s - “ 

“I know what he is.” Tsumugi takes Tasuku’s hands in his and squeezes reassuringly. “This was never about making him fall in love with me or wanting him to. Because I know he can’t and I can’t fight that nature.” 

Tasuku clenches his jaw. “Then, what  _ is  _ it about?” 

Tsumugi looks at his friend and feels his heart crack the slightest. “A promise,” He says. “It’s about keeping a promise.” 

Promise. 

It feels synonymous with pain. Centuries’ worth of anguish that seems to follow Tsumugi from one descent to the next. He’s seen the same scene in his head between every thought, and heard the whispers from that memory in between every pounding heartbeat. It hasn’t left him. Much like a scar, he feels it on the landscape of his memories like the occasional crater or bog. Much like a quicksand, it pulls him down everytime it catches him.

_ “We’ll meet in the next life,” _ Itaru said in a bloodstained voice, fingers clutching onto Tsumugi’s.  _ “And the next. And the next. Until things work out for us.” _

_ “We can’t fight Fate!” _ Tsumugi yelled. He cradled Itaru’s head to his neck, his voice wet and salty with tears, mouth tasting like blood and fingers sticky with the stuff. The memory has been worn down to nothing but faint flashes of a burning world and a storm. His body was trembling. 

_ “We will,” _ Itaru promised.  _ “We will fight Fate. We will bring it to its very knees.” _

It was a fearsome fantasy, but it filled Tsumugi with courage. And it still does, every time he thinks about it. 

The pain is still fresh, but so are the memories. 

“I trust you’ll sanction me,” Tsumugi tells his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder expectantly. “You know, you’re everything to me, Tasuku.” He means it. Not a single one of his memories exists without Tasuku in them. Tsumugi has known Tasuku since the Heavens were created. 

Tasuku clicks his tongue, frowning. “Of course, I will. I’ll ferry your soul myself, if I have to.” 

Tsumugi can see the mourning in his eyes already, and feels that emotion fill him up to the brim as well. He suddenly feels the weight of his wings on his back like lead, reminding him of the heavy price he has to pay for a futile rebellion against the stars and their warnings. 

“What are you going to do?” Tasuku asks, in vain. He knows exactly what Tsumugi is going to do. He’s done it six times. Now, he’s going to do it for the last. 

Tsumugi turns leisurely and begins to stroll down to his living quarters, gently running his hands along the dewed hedges.

“I’m going to bring Fate to its knees.”


	2. Paradox

The emptiness is easily mistaken for hunger. 

Masumi feels it squirming in the pits of his stomach, but can’t tell if it’s the homesickness or the hours he’s gone without a drink. Sweat has started to collect on his brow and there is a dull ache that’s spreading from his gut to the rest of his body. His feet feel weighed down with lead as he wades through the heartbeats and bodies pulsing with blood. 

The nightlife of the city thrums faintly through the streets, car headlights blinking past him and office workers stepping around him as they head back home. There is an undercurrent of purpose in everything that happens here - the trains slide along their tracks with bellies full of commuters, the cars with their flashing headlights and concentrated drivers, the pedestrians with faces buried in their scarves.

It seems like the entire world has a sort of magnetic field to it, and each person has a compass guiding them through the intricacies and tangled web of everyday life. Like a massive puzzle, every one of them fits in to give society its shape. Insignificant in the picture by themselves, but playing the crucial role of holding everything up together. 

Masumi misses fitting into that picture. Even as he walks, his hunger making his muscles twitch, he is nothing short of displaced from his original life. The sights and sounds swirl around him like a tornado, and he’s in the eye of the storm. Nothing but silence as everything rages around him like a cage of noise and debris of his past life. If he tries to step back in, he’ll be ripped to pieces.

He’s trapped. In between where he is, where he was and where he wishes to be. 

He climbs up the staircase of his old apartment building, where he used to stay with his grandma. He stops outside her door, and listens to the familiar sound of her cooking in the kitchen. He smells her stew, its rich and spicy aroma no longer teasing his belly into growling for seconds and even thirds. It passes through him like a ghost.

He wants to talk to her while he still can - while he has enough humanity left in him to apologise for running away and to hug her goodbye. Before he loses it completely and the smell of her blood begins to mask that fading scent of baking powder and laundry he’s come to associate with her. With home. 

“You really want her to see you like this?” 

Itaru’s voice snaps Masumi back to reality and he flinches involuntarily, striding back to put more space between the two of them. Itaru doesn’t move, his pristine black trench coat hiding his stance, his carnelian eyes boring into Masumi with an unspoken challenge. Masumi meets that gaze with a defiant one of his own, unspoken accusations hidden in the soft growl that he releases defensively.

Itaru doesn’t move. He doesn’t seem to be fazed by anything. He has that unperturbed expression on his face by default and seems to move through his life with the emotional capacity of a rock. He’s hardened that way too - like a storm has cut away the softness of his personality and left nothing but the hard middle. The seed that can’t grow on infertile land the same way a soul can’t flourish in a dead body. 

Masumi is aware of his own body - his still heart, his vacant lungs, the unmoving blood in his veins. Like a machine that’s come to a stop and will never work again, its gears collecting dust and rusting.

How long will it take for him to become like Itaru? Unmoving. Unfeeling. Living only to satiate a hunger that will only grow stronger by the day. 

“I can’t just leave like this,” Masumi says truthfully, for the first time. “She deserves to know.” 

“To know what?” Itaru probes. “That her grandson is dead but walking? That he’s losing his humanity by the day? It would be better news for her if you were dead.” The comment punctures through Masumi like a spear, pinning him to the wall, and Itaru advances, his eyes glinting hotly and impatiently until he’s cornered Masumi. “Don’t be selfish.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Masumi hisses. “Be like you? Not caring for anyone… and not even  _ myself _ ? To eat people in the woods just because I’m  _ bored _ ?” He presses forward, until his face is inches from Itaru’s and he can smell the blood on his breath. Itaru’s eyes are glassy as they stare back at him and Masumi realises he will never understand. 

Being called selfish is a compliment. Selfishness is a human quality - ingrained deeply into the species’ genes to help them survive the unforgiving trials of everyday life. Itaru may not realise it, but that comment makes Masumi feel more rooted to his humanity than anything else. Like a limb that went numb, he feels the weight of his humanity fortify his feeble body and pause the spinning in his head. 

His heart twitches in his ribs ever so slightly. 

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Itaru points out. 

“Yeah, it never did,” Masumi confirms bitterly, tearing his gaze away from Itaru to look at his grandmother’s door. “It didn’t when I was human and it doesn’t now, because self-righteous men like you exist that keep trying to prove yourselves to be more morally upright than I am.” The whole time he says this, Masumi feels the image of his father forming on the back of his eyelids. 

“What are you going to do about it?” 

Itaru sounds so nonchalant, almost bored with the conversation. His tone is flat and steadily so. It grates on Masumi’s nerves to always be faced with it. He hates that Itaru watches him spiral, and knows the guy finds some odd satisfaction in seeing his bitten fledgeling grasp onto the last grains of their humanity desperately.

“Nothing,” Masumi says, walking past him. “I’m not going to do anything. Go to hell.” 

He takes the stairs up to the roof and turns around abruptly when he senses Itaru’s presence following him. 

“I’m supposed to make sure you don’t go crazy and attack someone,” Itaru replies to the unasked question. “If you give up the truth about our existence, we’re all going to die.” 

“I thought you people were invincible?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Itaru responds. “If we don’t die, humans will find a different and crueler use for us. Not that it would hurt much. I just don’t like being used to serve someone else’s purpose.” He sounds oddly vehement about it, and it seeps into his tone. 

Masumi ignores him and walks onto the terrace full of clothing lines and bicycles and general residential clutter. He sees ghosts in everything now - fitting as he is stuck in the odd invisibly gap between the living and the dead. It feels like the world has erected dirt walls around him already, the sun spilling onto him as it would on the coffins in the cemetery before they’re buried. 

The sky is a blank drab slate, the stars washed out by the city’s light pollution. It makes him appreciate the forest the slightest. But where the stars are absent, the lights of the city substitute it with their own blinking and pulsing. Masumi sits down on the railing, curling up and watching the world move under him. 

All he can do now is watch. He’ll no longer be a part of that motion. After being carried by its current for so long, he feels like he’s been run aground on an infertile shore.

“If you want to die so bad, you just tell me,” Itaru says, “Swear upon it and I’ll kill you myself. It makes no difference to me.” He stands beside Masumi, arms folded under his jacket that flutters at the risk of falling off his shoulders. 

“No.” Masumi’s voice is firm. “My life was already not my idea - both times. I want my death to be my decision and my doing.” 

“You sure talk big,” Itaru mumbles, but doesn’t say anything else.

“At least I talk,” Masumi retorts. “I’m not like you.” There is no tenacity left in him to speak words that puncture. Even if there was, it wouldn’t matter - Itaru has been steeled effectively against the petulance of human emotions. 

Silence sinks in, thickly and heavily as tar. Conversational pauses with them turn permanent and uncomfortable. Neither speaks, and it does nothing but reinforce that stillness that’s taken over their lives. Where time has stopped moving for them yet continues to race forward for the entire world. 

“What if you could turn back human?” Masumi asks, all of a sudden. It feels like a fantasy, and both of them know that doing so wouldn’t inherently mean they’d regain normalcy. They would never be able to forget the short-lived immortality and unbearable thirst that consistently governs their life at the moment. 

“It wouldn’t matter,” Itaru replies. “It’s not possible anyway. It’s pointless to think about.” There is a finality evident in his voice; clearly, the conversation will be impossible to pursue further with him. 

It’s not the answer Masumi wants - he’s not sure what question to ask to get Itaru to reveal it.  _ Why did you save me _ , he thinks as he side-eyes his pale and cold face, romantic pink eyes and a pair of lips pursed gently together. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to save anyone’s life, much less someone like Masumi. So, the question is still unanswered. 

The sensation of the ground flying up towards him and Itaru’s fangs sinking into his skin and stopping his plummet is still fresh in his mind. Three years have passed and yet, the memory continues to astound him every time it surfaces. The genuine panic on Itaru’s face at the time contrasts the emptiness that Masumi sees in him now. 

Like the flowers in his ribcage have died off and left a cracked and barren land in their place that even spring couldn’t heal.

How can you heal death? 

* * *

There is a storm in the woods again tonight. 

This time it is localised, silent as the dark, and shaped like a man. It sits on the cliff that juts out of the foliage like a thick stubby finger reaching towards the star-dotted sky. The constellations seem to fracture under the force of his gaze, their stars winking out longer than they shine as he reads them. 

Itaru feels like a boat anchored in a choppy sea. Calm on the inside while the world around him breaks down into a state of chaos. The pandemonium causes quite a din - but it’s a sound only he can hear. Static crawls up and down his back, making his hair stand on end and forcing a soundless hiss out of him every now and then. 

The world seems to be restless tonight, the wind tossing and turning as it ruffles the trees and forest awake. The birds, that usually would have gone to sleep an hour ago, are still awake and chirping nervously. The wolves are weeping in their packs, up at the moon. Like a preface to the real story, the sounds of the night are building up like a pre-chorus. Something’s supposed to happen tonight. 

Itaru wishes he knew what, exactly. Like an animal before a storm, he is on edge and reading the static in the air, and listening to the voices in the wind. The night is clear, though, so this might not really be the kind of bad weather he wishes it were. 

“Oh, you’re already up here,” Tsuzuru observes. Sakuya and Masumi follow close behind. “There’s a meteor shower due in an hour. I thought it would be nice for all of us to sit and watch.” 

“What a pain,” Masumi grumbles, but sits down next to Sakuya anyway. 

Their little group has some rough currents every now and then but they move together like a river, cutting through rock slowly but steadily and trying to find their way. Itaru will never be able to express fully how grateful he is that they share this kind of a relationship. It makes immortality less boring; there’s no one he’d rather spend an eternity with than them. 

It looks like the perfect scene for marshmallows and hot chocolate and some spicy or salty snacks - if they ate that anymore, that is. Itaru feels the slightest regret that he can’t share these kinds of memories with them no matter how much he wishes to do so.

There’s not many things that make Itaru feel sentimental, but they definitely probe some emotion akin to that alive in his still heart.

He and Masumi are still not on good terms, but that is to be expected. Itaru doesn’t care. Masumi will come to realise how lucky he is to have been taken in by the rest of them. BY himself, the kid wouldn’t have survived. 

Bright streaks slash across the sky, striking across the stars and marring the pages of the sky. They’re reflected in the surface of the dark lake water that carries a piece of sky in it so they can watch the meteors twice.

“Wow, it’s so cool,” Sakuya says. Itaru can’t help but smile at his juvenile language. With the centuries that he’s lived, Sakuya has experienced a multitude of different art and language movements. It explains why he’s settled into the 21st century so well - he’s incredibly adaptable. 

They sit in silence, watching the meteors strum the stars like swift fingers on a guitar. The sweeping motion of the meteor shower seems to have gently stroked the forest into a fitful sleep finally, like warm fingers on a restless baby’s scalp. Sleep clings to the air and dims the stars to a comfortable dimness so that Nature’s children can sleep. 

“We’re going back down,” Tsuzuru tells Itaru ten minutes after the meteor shower ends. 

Itaru hums in acknowledgement, but continues watching the sky. It seems like even the stars are eagerly chattering to each other, twinkling with some kind of urgency as if the meteors did nothing but ruffle them further. The distinction between earth and sky becomes painfully apparent then as the forest continues to sleep but the night whispers in its own language. 

They’re speaking of a tragedy, the stars. Getting the words out as soon as possible before the sentiments escape and explode them into nothing. 

Even in death, stars are beautiful and leave behind unfathomable splashes of colour that stain the sky forever. Colours that can never truly reach Earth because humanity is undeserving of knowing such beautiful things exist. Humanity takes beautiful things and ruins them. 

The evening star winks at Itaru from its spot in the sky - the granter of wishes, the king of all the celestial bodies that stare down at him together. 

Then, it begins to fall. 

Itaru blinks once, then twice but its descent seems to accelerate as it plummets to the ground. It sends up a wave of heat as it cuts through the atmosphere and the temperature skyrockets until all Itaru can smell is sweat and metal. Hot, burning metal like the centre of the star is collapsing and it’s breaking down to its elements. 

It crashes in the forest somewhere, sending up a cloud of dust and a white-hot shock accompanied by a large blinding pulse of light that makes Itaru squeeze his eyes shut. 

When he opens them, the world is still and silent. The impact seems to have shaken the stars out of the sky because they hang in the air around him like windchimes in midair. They cling to all the surfaces, washing everything in a heavenly white light. Itaru hears nothing but his own confusion and surprising banging around in his head. 

He, without a word, heads towards the cloud of stars gathered above the newly-formed crater. Nothing in the forest moves as he walks past - the falling leaves have frozen midair and hang over him. The fireflies have paused in flight and all the other sounds have been muted. The strange feeling is one that could only be understood by comparing it to the sensation of stepping into a new dimension.

The crater dips into the ground by just a few feet, so Itaru slides down effortlessly to the centre. 

He stops. And he stares. 

There’s nothing much that can surprise him, but the sight of a body draped in pristine robes of royalty with steam curling out from under it is one that could bewilder almost anyone. The face is of a young man. He has soft features, pale eyelids over possibly the kindest eyes - Itaru can feel the tenderness of their gaze like it’s a  _ memory  _ \- and a graceful Cupid’s bow for a pretty pair of lips.

Itaru, hesitantly, steps closer and kneels down carefully and reaches for the boy’s face, flinching at how cold his skin is despite the steaming around his body from the descent through the atmosphere. 

Cold, supple, smooth and  _ familiar _ . 

His palm tingles and his fingers move on their own to brush dark hair away from the sleeping face and tuck it behind an ear. He rests his knuckles tenderly against the boy’s cheek, and the gesture seems to probe at something in the furthest and darkest corners of his mind. 

But all his memories have more or less blurred together - it’s like trying to find the needle in a haystack. 

He hears a rustle as the rest of his group emerges from the forest at the lip of the crater and slide down to meet him. Their reaction to the scene mirrors Itaru’s, eyes holding millions of unasked questions that none of them can answer. It seems to physically pain them to hold back, their curiosity shackled by weights of not-knowing-any-better. 

There is something that seems to be unanimously decided - nobody’s drinking from him.

“What should we do with him?” Tsuzuru asks. 

“We take him to Chikage,” Sakuya responds without a thought. “He’ll know what to do.” 

* * *

Tsumugi wakes up, only remembering his name with no recollection of why he’s here in the first place. His fingers feel stiff and glued together from inactivity and his bones click into place as he yawns widely, trying to take in the wooden interior of the house at the same time through teary eyes. 

The room swims around him as he tries to connect his identity (or lack thereof) to the place that is housing him right now. He comes up with nothing but a blank slate and a deep, yawning chasm that seems to have swallowed all his memories and laughs at him as he stares down into it helplessly. He’s suspending over a bottomless pit with no sight of the ceiling in a dark cavern with stalagmites and stalactites jutting from the floor like teeth.

Like he’s caught between the jaws of a large monster. 

“So, you’re awake. How do you feel?” 

Tsumugi doesn’t recognise this man, just as he is sure he won’t recognise anyone else. Like any normal person would have a vague indication or sensation of familiarity, Tsumugi is certain he will not have the privilege of feeling that. 

“I’m Chikage,” The man says, sitting down on the stool near the bed. “You fell from the sky, you remember?” 

This is news to Tsumugi, though it would explain the jarring feeling of solid ground under him. Though his mind doesn’t remember, his body seems to recall every instant and it shivers, trembling in fear at the thought. 

Chikage holds out a mug of brew to Tsumugi’s lips. Tsumugi touches it to his mouth and Chikage tilts the mug until he’s forced to down the whole thing in continuous gulps. It’s something rich, herby and spicy. It makes Tsumugi cough. 

“It’s just spinach soup,” Chikage says, in a tone that one might use to chide a rebellious child. “It’ll do you good to get something in your stomach. You’ve been out for a week.” 

Tsumugi sits up to look around at all the shelves stacked with jars, walls covered in star charts and painted with runes. It’s a one room house, with no clear distinction between the different sections. There’s the bed that Tsumugi’s sitting on, a stove in one corner in front of the shelves full of jars and boxes, a desk in one corner with scrolls and parchment spilling to the floor from its top. 

A thin clothing line runs outside along the length of the house, with a variety of leaves, herbs and flowers in unfathomable colours clipped onto it and left to dry in the sun. Some vines run along the inside walls of the house as well, hanging down in arcs strung with more flowers that emit a diverse range of scents. Some smell bitter, others sweet, and some spicy. Strangely enough, the clashing scents coexist in the air peacefully and pleasantly.

“You’re lucky to have made it here as you did,” Chikage continues, “I was surprised they didn’t attack you - the people that found you and brought you here, I mean.” He rolls up his sleeves and begins to stir something in the pot on the stove.

“Where is…?” Tsumugi trails off. 

“You’re in the middle of the forest,” Chikage replies. “You made quite a spectacle of your descent.” He speaks in a knowing voice and looks at Tsumugi expectantly, as if there’s a clue in his words that is to be picked up on. Tsumugi doesn’t recognise any, so Chikage sighs again and goes back to cooking. 

“I’ll have lunch ready soon,” Chikage says. “You can go and take a bath. You smell terrible. Then, we can talk.” 

It sounds like a threat, like every word that has come out of his mouth so far.

Tsumugi obliges, because he doesn’t know how else to respond and what else to say. He carries his aching body to the bathhouse that’s built right behind the cramped cottage. The forest air is dewey and like a balm on his fractured resolve and body pain. 

He steps into the bath and sinks in, until a sharp stinging pain on his back jolts him right out of the water. The excruciating pain lingers and webs out from between his shoulder blades. Against his will, a whimper escapes his mouth and tears well up in his eyes as his head spins. It’s too much for his body to take already but there seems to be a memory also burned into his mind with the pain that he can’t seem to decipher. 

He crawls out and checks his reflection on the surface of the water, looking over his shoulder at his back where there are two black stubs, like wings burned off until their stumps. Some unprecedented grief overwhelms him, and for the first time it’s his mind that registers it before his body, its foggy memory doing nothing but breaking Tsumugi down to his sadness.

He feels incapable of processing any emotion more complex than that, as he stays on his hands and knees, crying like a sinner that is confessing his sins a little too late, like the tragedy has overtaken him and broken down the kingdom of happy endings right before his eyes. 

He cries until he’s numb, and his tears wash away everything else. He mourns for the person that he was before today, before the sky shattered and spat him out. He mourns for reasons he can’t even name. 

He mourns and he mourns like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

* * *

“You’re still here, Chigasaki? I thought I told you to go home and not come back until I told you it was okay to do so?” 

Tsumugi stops near the wall when he hears Chikage’s voice. He’s finished his bath and rubbed the tear tracks off his face. He’s in a sweater, a scarf to fight the impending winter and pyjamas - all courtesy of Chikage’s generosity. 

“I don’t really trust you to look after him.” It’s a different voice, one that makes Tsumugi’s heart beat just the slightest bit faster though he doesn’t know yet why. The conviction and worry in it makes him feel warm. 

“Like you’d do a better job, bloodsucker.” Chikage says that last word like it’s a slur. “Go home. Or I’ll break your UV protection charm and watch you burn to death right here.” It’s something so jarringly threatening - an unrepentant promise of murder. It forces Tsumugi to finally walk around the corner and come into their line of sight, pausing the argument. 

“Lunch is ready.” Chikage’s voice has regained its charm and shed its murderous tone as he gestures for Tsumugi to come inside. 

Tsumugi hesitates and looks at the visitor questioningly.

“This is Itaru,” Chikage explains. “He’s the one who found you a week back. He won’t stop pestering me but I think he’d listen to you so if you’d kindly tell him to come visit another time when you’re more fit to handle the attention…” 

Chikage’s voice fades into the background when Itaru looks to meet Tsumugi’s eyes. 

Something clicks into place - like Fate has thrown its dice and it’s landed on the favourable number. Like a checkmate. Like lightning has struck the same place more than twice. Like a planet completing its revolution after centuries of stagnance. Like orbits crossing just the way they’re supposed to. 

Tsumugi gravitates towards Itaru just as he does to Tsumugi and they meet halfway where Tsumugi’s hands find Itaru’s cheeks and Itaru’s hands fit gently into the curves of Tsumugi’s neck. No words are spoken; they don’t need to and they have none to say. The gesture just feels like a memory - from the yesterdays they can’t remember spending with each other and thoughts of tomorrows they’re not sure will ever come. 

In Itaru’s eyes lies a promise. In Tsumugi’s tears lie memories.

The moment goes as soon as it comes and Itaru jerks away from him, blinking like he’s regaining consciousness. Tsumugi’s hands feel cold as his embrace is left empty again. 

“Eat well, Tsumugi,” Itaru tells him mechanically. “I’ll visit you tomorrow.” 

Tsumugi doesn’t recall ever telling him his name. 

* * *

For the first time, Itaru dreams. He doesn’t recall falling asleep. Doesn’t recall ever needing sleep for the past 20 years since his life changed and his body didn’t work the same. But tonight, sleep catches him and the ground where he falls asleep cradles him, soft grass brushing against him gently as the wind kisses him goodnight. 

He sees hallways of gold, and marble pillars. Castles with towers that touch the sky. Soldiers in the courtyard. The scenes are coloured with a dim earthly light, making everything look like a crumbling painting on parchment paper. 

His head feels heavy with a crown as he walks down the hedged path in the garden. A little way off, a figure in white robes tends to the flower garden. Itaru feels his heart swell. A part of him seems to recognise the subtle curves and skin. Just the slightest touch of a hand, and lips on his forehead, a laugh in his ears, a mouth over his. 

“Have the snowberries bloomed yet, dear?” He hears himself as the boy in white robes. 

He earns a laugh and a hand under his chin. “You know the snowberries only bloom in winter, darling.” A mouth over his. Just for a moment. It comes too soon and leaves abruptly before he can file the moment into his memory. 

Then he sees fire and barren, cracked land and dead bodies. The white robe is stained red. 

He wakes up with a jolt, sweat on his brows and worry clutching him everywhere at the strange human sensations that have been wracking his body since just recently. Like his body is waking up. Fighting death and trying to return to the realm of the living. Like the fulcrum of the universe has shifted and something is teetering off balance, throwing Itaru over the edge. 

“Are you okay?” 

Itaru turns to see Masumi crouching near him. His face is blank, as per normal, which is an improvement from the usual scowl he wears whenever he addresses Itaru. 

“You were mumbling in your sleep,” Masumi explains. “I didn’t know vampires could even sleep. Or sweat. Or have nightmares.” 

“Yeah, they can’t,” Itaru says, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” 

“Maybe a little part of you is still human,” Masumi muses. “You should probably go see Citron about it. He’s the only healer that comfortably associates with us.” 

_ Maybe a little part of you is still human _ . Everything else the boy says is lost to Itaru, who is staring in the general direction of the crater. The memory has been burned into his head but this time, he turns it over and powders it in his own thoughts. The image of Tsumugi plummeting to the earth in a ball of fire and crashing right into Itaru’s life remorselessly. 

A stranger that feels painfully familiar. A living breathing paradox that has twisted Itaru’s calm demeanour into a restless one, crashing and shaking him up the same way he did the earth and sky the night he fell into the ground. 

His touch still lingers on Itaru’s cheeks, his fingerprints little pricks of warmth on cold skin. 

“It’s not a bad thing - being human,” Itaru tells Masumi, to his own and the boy’s surprise. “You are finite but gifted with infinite things that you get to enjoy. Your soul is an eternity - it never really dies, but it gets reborn. We are not going to die. We are not going to be born again. We will see so many things come to an end but aren’t able to grieve for them. What kind of life is that?”

“We live death and we’re awake through it all,” Masumi responds. “It’s not a life.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know. I KNOW it's been 2 weeks, but school has started again and it's made updating quite a hassle i'm so sorry. just expect this updating schedule to stick throughout the story. i'll update every 2 weeks when i can.


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